


Burned Bridges

by fayrose



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayrose/pseuds/fayrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 1. Eleanor has burned all of her bridges, but bridges can be rebuilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned Bridges

Evenings of late had found Eleanor secluded. Where once her study had felt like a cage, it seemed more to her now like a fortress. Outside of its walls, Nassau changed with every tide, yet never changed at all. Captains rose and fell; fortunes were made and lost; lovers were joined and then torn asunder. Inside her study, Eleanor sat apart and made order of it all. She reduced chaotic sea battles to value gained and resources lost. She planned and recorded shipments – their rosters, courses and cargo – in minute detail. Every fraught meeting she transcribed and analysed, and from all of them drew up contracts to keep her partners in line. And when she came across a note of endearment – hidden away between the pages of a ledger for weeks and weeks – she most definitely did not re-read the elegant French verse it contained, before tossing it – tear streaked – into the fire.

 

Inside her fortress, there was always work to busy her mind, and with every bridge around her burned, Eleanor had no other companion. At least, none that were welcome.

 

“You need ta get control o’ your woman, afore I does it for ya,” Anne Bonny spat as she burst into the room. The doors to Eleanor’s study were so often slammed closed and smashed open that she wondered if she ought to get them altered in some way. Perhaps to make it so that they could only be opened and shut excruciatingly slowly. It would be fun to watch the infuriation it caused if nothing else.

 

Eleanor paused, marked the running total in the ledger’s margin and raised her head to regard the dishevelled form of Anne Bonny with mild interest. She dressed like a pirate and walked like a man, but her long hair and smooth cheeks gave her away. No man ever had hair that fine or such a dangerous shade of red. No man had eyes like that or hands that small. Anne Bonny was a curiosity that Eleanor had never had the opportunity to explore. There were always knives in the way.

 

“What Max does is no longer my concern,” Eleanor told the curiosity of a pirate. It was a transparent lie that Anne of all people could see through. They shared an understanding now that had not been there before. Eleanor knew that Anne had a heart where men said there beat none, and Anne knew that Eleanor’s heart loved someone more than it loved Nassau. Eleanor was yet to decide whether that made them an asset or a danger to one another. “She’s not my woman.”

 

“That’s the fuckin’ problem, ain’t it,” Anne swore, pacing back and forth before Eleanor’s desk like a panther, her beaded hair swinging. “Her eyes been wonderin’ and I ain’t ‘avin’ it. Jack’s mine.”

 

Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh; for the first time in weeks she truly, honestly laughed. The knot of worry that had been tightening in her belly since Anne burst in unravelled. “You think that Max has designs on your Mr Rackham?”

 

Anne stopped and glared at her murderously. “What’s so funny ‘bout that?”

 

“I find it highly unlikely that your concerns are warranted,” Eleanor said swiftly, struggling to get it out before she chuckled. Of all the women in the brothel, Anne was worried about Max. It was the best joke she had heard in months.

 

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Anne bit. If there were ever to be a competition for best sneer, Eleanor’s bet would be on Anne. She had every pirate cliché down pat.

 

“It means,” Eleanor began, “that Max prefers the…” she paused, looking Anne up and down and smirking, “…gentler sex.”

 

Neither of them fit the description, and Anne seemed more puzzled than she had been before. “Women, Anne. Max only desires women.”

 

For a moment, Eleanor thought that Anne still did not understand, but then the creases in Anne’s brow smoothed out and she took a step back.

“She’s been wit plenty o’ men. Everyone knows.”

 

“Professionally, yes,” Eleanor agreed, wondering whether she would have to explain the concept of prostitution to the owner of a brothel. “Personally, no. Her tastes are quite exclusive, Anne, I can assure you.”

 

It was then, with Anne frowning again, that Eleanor wondered exactly when it was that she had begun calling Anne by her first name. Almost no one ever did and Eleanor certainly had not been amongst the number that had. But most of those men were dead now and Eleanor had had a hand in it, so why not?

 

“Why’s she acting all weird then?” Anne grumbled, childish in her confusion.

 

“Heaven if I know,” Eleanor breathed, her attention drawn back to the ledger before her. It was decidedly less than inspiring, but work was work. “Look, Anne, is there any other reason for your visit as – entertaining as this has been – I do have rather a lot of work to do.”

 

Anne clicked her tongue in annoyance and turned for the doors, her coat billowing around her. “Fuck you then.”

 

“Quite,” Eleanor murmured, watching Anne go with a certain level of interest. “Fuck me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The council was Eleanor’s idea. The longer Flint was gone – and with him the dream of the Urca’s gold – the rowdier Nassau grew. It quickly became pertinent to introduce at least the appearance of shared power, and a council seemed the best way to go about it.

 

Eight members made up their number; a joke that no one but Jack seemed to appreciate. He had a seat, of course, as did every other major business owner and two carefully chosen captains. Each business carried a single seat, with the exception of the brothel. With the brothel came two seats, a condition set out by Eleanor herself. The women who worked there were far safer now than they ever had been under Noonan – short in no thanks to the ever present threat of Anne Bonny – but Jack was a pirate and money came first. He would fight for the brothel’s economic interests, not those of its staff. Eleanor told herself that her insistence came from a noble wish to see the women protected, but that was a lie that not even she believed. It came from a desire to see Max. A desire that she could not suppress.

 

“Are we all set to officially open the first meeting?” Eleanor asked the gathered men. Her voice was light, but her temper was wearing thin. “Or are there any more objections to the seating arrangements?”

 

It was to Eleanor’s credit that she had managed to get them this far at all. In the first half an hour of their meeting, there had been several objections to such trivial things as who should sit at the two heads of the table – Eleanor, of course, took one seat, but that left another – and whose man should be assigned the task of keeping the minutes. It was eventually agreed that Jack was of sufficient mind to keep up with the meeting and take notes both. As for the other head of the table, that privilege was given to Max. Or rather that privilege was taken by Max. She had demanded it and no one was stupid enough to challenge her. Especially not Eleanor. She had seen that look in Max’s eyes before and she knew that it only ever ended with Max getting exactly what she wanted.

 

“ _Oui_. We are ready,” Max said impatiently, daring anyone to contradict her. “On with your agenda.”

 

Eleanor nodded her thanks and looked around the table. All were men that she trusted, more or less. Jack she would have to keep an eye on and Max was now an unknown quantity. The rest were loyal to a fault. They relied on her trade for their livelihoods and when it came down to it, they would vote with her every time. Which made it was less of a council and more of a formality to diffuse the responsibility for whatever decisions she should make – just how Eleanor liked it.

 

“First thing’s first,” Eleanor began, resisting the urge to stand and circle the table, “we need to talk about Charles Vane.”

 

“I concur,” a rough voice said from the patio doorway. It had been left open to let in the coastal breeze and cool everyone’s tempers. It had also let in something far less pleasant.

 

A shiver ran through Eleanor at the sound of that oh so familiar voice. Before she turned to Vane, her eyes flicked briefly to Max’s face, seeing there not a trace of distress.

 

Vane stood, as always, with a casual tilt to his body. One arm rested lazily at his side, whilst the other leant on the doorframe just above his head. His posture was that of a lion; cool and relaxed in the knowledge that he could snap the necks of everyone in the room and never be challenged for it. The sight of him turned Eleanor’s stomach.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she sighed, letting her head fall forward into her hands in exasperation. It went against every instinct she had to take her eyes of him, but she must if she were to retain the appearance of control. Act like prey and the predator would pounce. “ _You_ were not invited.”

 

“As this is a council, not a monarchy, I don’t rightly think that’s your choice,” Vane countered, pushing off from the doorway and sauntering into the room. His body swayed when he moved, like the deck of a ship rolled beneath him. He walked half way around the table and stopped, putting his hands either side of the back of Jack’s chair. “What do you think, Jack? Should I be granted the honour of joining this merry band of men?”

 

He paused and looked to the head of the table, bowing his head at Max as if he was a gentleman. “Women too. Should have known you’d be here. Tryin’ to get her feet back under the table, is she?”

 

“Don’t you dare look at her,” Eleanor bit, rising to her feet and clenching her fists. Threats against herself she could take, but one wrong look at Max and she would have him castrated. “Get out! You are not a business owner and you are not welcome here.”

 

“Thought so.” Vane’s mouth twisted in a cold smile, pleased with Eleanor’s ire. Like every man in Nassau, he knew the only way to truly get Eleanor’s back up was to play on one of two things: her father or Max.

 

“To the best of my knowledge, neither are the Captains Stoney nor Torrington.” He nodded to Max. “Nor’s the whore.”

 

“Madame,” Max corrected shortly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. Her look told him that she was not afraid of him and Eleanor’s heart swelled at the sight of it.

 

“Excuse me.” Vane bent in a mockery of a bow, his smile turning sly at the sight of Max playing Eleanor’s part. “Neither’s the madam.”

 

“The captains are here to represent the interests of the crews, who are in themselves Nassau’s most valuable asset,” Eleanor said, regaining her composure and folding her hands neatly before her. “Max is here to represent the brothel staff, whilst Mr Rackham represents its economic interests – an arrangement agreed upon by all present.”

 

“Staff now, are they?” Vane jeered, rubbing his stubble with his thumb and forefinger stretched wide. “Come now Eleanor, call them what they are. A whore is a whore is a whore.” He grinned. “As a paying customer, you should know that.”

 

“Do as the lady says and leave,” Captain Stoney bid amiably. Like most of the Captains out of Nassau, he had never been stupid enough to put himself on the wrong side of Vane, and he did not intend to do so now. He had been, however, a gentleman in a past life and would not sit by whilst Vane spoke that way to a lady. And about another lady too. “We don’t need any trouble.”

 

“Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” Vane said lightly, strolling around to stand behind Stoney’s chair. “No, I’m just here to have my say on the running of the place, same as the rest of you.”

 

“The rest of us were invited,” Captain Torrington said tersely. He had never like Vane and, unlike Stoney, was confident enough in the ferocity of his own crew not to be afraid of Vane or his men. In this, he was mistaken.

 

“Invited, exactly,” Vane seized, as if he had carefully steered the conversation in just that direction. “Don’t it seem a bit odd to you that this here council is supposed to balance out the holding of power in this place, yet every one of you was handpicked by Mistress Guthrie herself? Sounds to me like this is just another veil behind which she can wield absolute power.” He stopped and looked at Eleanor. “And that, we cannot allow.”

 

“This is true,” Max mused, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “Max had considered this and with eight members, there will ‘ave to be one of us who will be the tiebreaker. I ‘ave no doubt that _Mistress Guthrie_ intended that person to be ‘erself.”

 

Eleanor leaned forward in her seat, unsure of this new development. Max was right, of course, that had been her intention. That Max had seen through her plans so easily might prove to be a problem. Perhaps giving her a seat on the council had not been such a good idea. Max had been the person to whom Eleanor had spilled her heart on an almost nightly occasion. Almost all of her heart at least. That gave her a certain amount of insight – ammunition – with which she could cause Eleanor a good deal of trouble.

 

Vane narrowed his eyes and smiled in Max’s direction, curious but not entirely surprised that she should be the one to back him up. If there was one thing that he would bet about the woman that Eleanor had chosen to share a bed with, it was that she would be every bit as dangerous as Eleanor herself, in her own way. That was how Eleanor liked it. Sleeping with a pussycat was not half so fun as lying down beside a tiger.

 

“My point exactly,” Vane said. “You need an odd number.”

 

“Which is why Mr Rackham ‘as agreed to give up his seat so that I may represent all of the brothel’s interests, is that not so Jack?” Max said as smooth as silk, leaning forward so that her elbows were on the table.

 

Jack stared open mouthed at his partner. In their short time in business together, he had learned that it was best for everyone involved if he jumped when she called and immediately asked how high. “I… Yes. Quite right. No need for the two of us to be here. I’ll just be off.”

 

He rose to his feet and bobbed his hat at Max and then Eleanor, but before he could make a move to leave, Vane’s hand fell heavy on his shoulder.

 

“Sit down, Jack.”

 

There was no arguing with Vane. Not unless you wanted to live to see another sunrise. “Right. Sitting down.”

 

“No, stand.”

 

Max commanded, her voice scolding in the way that only a woman’s voice ever can be, and for a moment, Jack looked between her and Vane, trying to decide whom he feared more. Behind Vane were those wildmen he had hired, but behind Max stood the threat of Anne Bonny.

 

There really was no choice to be made. “Standing.”

 

Eleanor smirked, crossing her arms before her chest in victory. “Goodbye Charles, nice of you to stop by.”

 

Vane growled and turned for the door. “Fine. Have your council meeting. Just remember who has the canons.”

 

Unconcerned, Eleanor smiled as he left them, waving with a trite pleasantness. “As if you would ever let us forget.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Morning was Eleanor’s favourite time of day in Nassau, when the tavern was empty and the streets were filled with the common sounds of living. It could have been any port in the world that Eleanor looked out upon, save for the lack of colours flying from the ships in the harbour, and the price on all of their heads. There were even children playing amongst the hodgepodge of buildings. More and more of them had appeared over the past few years, Eleanor’s feelings of responsibility for the town growing with their number. Men were, if not settling down, setting up businesses and making Nassau’s economy run on more than piracy alone. Of course, all the money coming into the port still derived from pilfered cargo, but it was a start. One that Eleanor encouraged only so far as benefited her. There was no sense letting the things stray too far from her control.

 

“I am beginning to see what it is that you love so much about this place,” Max said by way of greeting. Her footsteps were light on the wooden planks of the bridge, but Eleanor felt them pound through her like the beating of a drum. “This is becoming an ‘abit of ours, meeting ‘ere.”

 

She stopped beside Eleanor and looked out onto the harbour below. “People will talk.”

 

Eleanor smiled and dipped her head. It was strange to be doing that again around Max. Their encounters had been softening, but none had begun so light. “Now you’re worried about people talking? You did not seem so concerned when you pushed me down in the sand last month.”

 

Max’s smile brightened and her head tipped to the side in recollection. “I did say that sand ‘as its virtues.”

 

That made Eleanor laugh outright and the sound of it was like music to Max’s ears. She had only ever heard Eleanor laugh in such a way when they were alone. She had missed the sound dearly. Missed it almost as much as she had missed land when she had been forced to spend what felt like an eternity in the hold of a ship.

 

“I should thank you,” Eleanor began, her voice sobering, “for what you did at the council meeting.”

 

Eleanor sucked in a breath, remembering Vane’s interruption with annoyance. It had wounded her pride and only Max’s intervention had let her save face. “He would never have left if you hadn’t outsmarted him.”

 

Max knew that what she had to say next was not something that Eleanor would enjoy hearing, but she needed to say it: she had not seen off Vane for Eleanor’s benefit, but for her own. Getting rid of Jack had been a pleasant side effect. Both brought her more power in the council and, as such, more power over her own fate and that of Nassau. She was out for herself now, just like Eleanor was, and if they did not learn how to play the game together then Max was more than willing to play it alone.

 

“’e was right. You would ‘ave made every decision still and ‘id it behind the council’s wishes. I could not let that ‘appen.”

 

Eleanor let out her breath, conceding. “You know me too well.”

 

“Beginning to regret giving Max a place on the council?” Max challenged. Eleanor never had tolerated competition well. Not in her business life, nor in her love life either. She had a streak of jealousy in her that Max would have found distasteful in anyone else, but that in Eleanor only aroused desire.

 

At Max’s challenge, Eleanor’s smile returned. “Never. You’ll keep me honest.”

 

Max sighed, heavy and quick. “It is not Max’s job to keep Eleanor honest. Max has enough worries of ‘er own.”

 

Beside her, Eleanor tensed.

 

“I meant that having you there will make me _want_ to be honest,” she amended. “To show you that I really do want to make something of this place and her people. That I want to make sure that power is in the hands of those worthy of wielding it and not with those who would abuse it. Which means lessening my hold Nassau and keeping people like Vane and his men from holding any power over us.”

 

“That at least I can agree on,” Max conceded. “You said that you wanted two seats for the brothel on the council so that the women would ‘ave a voice. Why?”

 

“Because you did not have a voice,” Eleanor breathed, looking away. “Not even when you were screaming.”

 

“You ‘eard me,” Max said softly, reaching out to brush Eleanor’s hand. She would not take it, but such a small touch she could give. “Thank you, for giving them a voice. I admit that I was not so sure about them ‘aving one. I thought only of the voice it would give to me. But you are right. No one should be silent, not even a whore.”

 

Eleanor seemed grateful for that and Max wondered, not for the first time, if Eleanor was a little more selfless than she gave herself credit for. Even after what had happened to Max, most of the whores in Nassau held Eleanor in a kind of regard they showed few others. As did those whose indentures Eleanor had broken. After what she had done for the slaves brought in by _The Walrus_ , Max had found out that it was not the first time that Eleanor had taken such an action. It was only the first time anyone had found out. Her father would have cut her off if he had discovered it. Now it did not matter what her father thought. Max wagered that would change her.

 

“I know that Anne is probably deterrent enough, but I want you to know that my men are at your disposal, should any of the brothel’s patrons raise a hand to any of your women,” Eleanor offered. “Anne can vouch for their skill and discretion, and I am sure that she would not protest to working with them again. I could even have a few sent over to frequent your small bar, if you would like.”

 

Max narrowed her eyes and pulled her hand away. “What is that supposed to mean? Why would Anne know these things?”

 

Eleanor’s mouth opened and closed in surprise, ice shivering through her as she realised that Max did not know. She had assumed that Anne would tell her everything. Apparently, she had been wrong. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

 

“Do not dare lie to me,” Max warned, stepping back and fixing Eleanor with a contemptuous frown. “Max can tell.”

 

“I should not have said anything,” Eleanor sighed, wishing that she would learn to keep her damned mouth shut. “She would have told you if she wanted you to know.”

 

“You tell me,” Max demanded. “Anne be damned.”

 

“You won’t like it,” Eleanor warned. She wondered if the congeniality that Max had shown her recently had been because she did not know of Eleanor’s part in freeing her. Wondered if that might all disappear.

 

“Max ‘as learnt to expect that,” Max huffed, crossing her arms before her in a way that was far too distracting, even at such a tense moment.

 

Focusing her attention, Eleanor began.

 

“Anne could not chance making a move on Hamund on her own. She had already spoken up enough on your behalf and the rest of _The Ranger’s_ crew would know that she had a hand in it if he disappeared. Which is where I came in. I know you told me to leave you be, but I couldn’t. They said that you had made a choice and that I should let you live out what that meant, but I’m not stupid and I wasn’t just going to stand by and let them…” She paused, her breathing heavy, and took a moment to calm herself. “Taking out Hamund would never have been enough. Those men were like a pack of dogs. No woman in Nassau was safe. They were too much for Anne Bonny to take on for fucks sake! What does that say? No matter what you said, I had to do something, Max. I had to.”

 

She told Max everything and when she was done, she looked at the whitewashed boards below her feet and waited for condemnation to come.

 

“You did all of that for me?”

 

Eleanor gaze snapped up, surprised that this was the thing that Max had fixated on. “Of course.”

 

“Put your position ‘ere on the line? Threw away all of that money? Risked it all coming back on you if it all went wrong?” Max asked, her face open with a sort of pleasant surprise.

 

“ _Everything_ ,” Eleanor insisted, seizing on the moment before it could pass her by. “I would risk everything for you Max. I would do _anything_.”

 

“Huh,” Max noted, nodding. “This is good to know.”

 

Before Eleanor process that reply, Max had turned and disappeared into the shadow of the brothel, leaving Eleanor open mouthed and at a loss. She was not sure what had just happened, but she knew that whatever it was, it was a start. A start, perhaps, back to something she thought she had lost forever. Bridges might be rebuilt, she realised, even after they had been burned.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Max requested that Eleanor meet her on the bridge, Eleanor did not know what to expect, nor whether it was in her to turn up at all.

 

Since her accidental revelation, she had seen Max only once and it had not been a pleasant experience. It had been late and the tavern had been all but empty. Her body had been weary and her head pounding as she had slowly made her way around the upper floor, collecting unspoilt dregs and shaking awake sleepy drunks. Her thoughts had been on nothing in particular, being instead a fuzzy sort of nothingness that often came to her at the end of an uneventful day. A single sound had been enough to sharpen them to a point.

 

Max’s voice swelled from the shadowy far corner, setting Eleanor’s heart to pound and her head to spin. Her elation, however, had been so very short-lived. It had been but a moment before her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she had made out Max’s familiar silhouette, draped over Anne Bonny’s lap.

 

To top it all off, she had startled at the unforeseen development and dropped her collecting jug. It had clattered to the floor with a loudness that it had no right to engender and Max’s eyes – glittering in the candlelight – had suddenly been on her. Anne’s too. Under such scrutiny, she had done the only thing she could. She had fled.

 

Within a week, all of Nassau knew. If Jack’s newfound fondness of pestering Eleanor at the tavern’s bar had not been sufficient, the wagging tongues of the brothel’s clientele had soon made sure that Nassau was up to date and in possession of all of the details.

 

_“This… is all your fault,” Jack had told her drunkenly, a half empty onion bottle cradled before him. “If you had…_ hadn’t _fucked it all up, Anne would never have looked twice at that… whore.”_

 

_“On that I cannot disagree with you,” Eleanor had replied, bending over the bar to yank Jack’s coin purse off his belt and retrieve reimbursement for what rum had disappeared down his throat. She let the ‘whore’ insult go that once, but she’d bat him around the ear if he said it again. “Still, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”_

 

_Jack had looked thoughtful then. He had narrowed one eye and twitched his lips as if sounding something out. “Could kidnap ‘em ‘til ‘ey come ‘eir senses.”_

 

Eleanor had, of course, declined his offer, no matter how tempting it was to lock Anne in a very small, dark room. She had never liked the thought of any man’s hands on Max, but the thought of a woman’s made her more jealous than she had thought possible. Had she been suicidal, she would have gladly attempted to wring Anne’s neck, but that would hurt Max too and Eleanor would do anything to prevent that. So she kept silent. Even when her mother’s warning, that you never realised how much you loved someone until you had lost them, echoed in her mind. She never had found out whom her mother had been talking of. It had not seemed important. Now she had loved, truly loved, it seemed like the most important thing in the world.

 

“Eleanor!” Max’s hushed voice brought her rudely back to the present and it took her a moment to realise that it had come from the brothel. “ _Viens ici!_ ”

 

The command caught Eleanor so by surprise that she sprung into action, disappearing into the brothel with such urgency that she almost fell over her feet. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room, but she quickly got her bearings. It was the room that she and Max had often shared and she could walk it at midnight without a single candle ablaze. She had often done just that. Hiding their relationship from Noonan had necessitated it in the early days. That aside, it still took her a moment to decipher the scene on the bed and the reason that Max was bobbing beside it.

 

“How the fuck did this happen and why didn’t I know about it?” Eleanor swore. Quietly. Oh so very quietly.

 

“Because someone did not think it prudent to tell Max that the reason she was wearing loose robes was not to be alluring but to ‘ide her swollen belly,” Max sniped at the girl in the bed. Her voice was as quiet as Eleanor’s and the baby sleeping in her arms did not stir. “Leaving me with a baby and no way of getting rid of it!”

 

Eleanor groaned and hung her head. She was the way. She always was. Emily was not the first of the brothel’s girls to find herself in the family way with no way to support her child, nor the inclination to do so. Usually, Eleanor had time to arrange things.  A wet nurse, of course, was needed immediately, and she had always had a family in place or, failing that, had contacted the church. This time, she had no such luxury.

 

“Wait, how come none of your patrons told you?” Eleanor asked, as if once uncovered this inconsistency would make the whole situation disappear. “And how the hell didn’t you notice her belly.”

 

“Emily?” Max prompted.

 

“Cos… Cos I gave them extras to keep quiet. Got a regular clientele of men who liked it before long,” the girl explained, her head hung with shame. “And me belly was small. It wasn’t so hard to hide.”

 

“You can’t honestly expect me to look after the thing until I get someone to take it?” Eleanor objected. Of all the things she had considered being the purpose for Max’s invitation, this had not been one of them.

 

“She cannot stay ‘ere,” Max insisted, though the softness of her voice betrayed her fondness for the thing in her arms. As inconvenient as the baby was, she could not deny that she had a certain charm. She even had to concede that she was cute.

 

Ignoring Eleanor’s protests, Max began to walk towards her, stopping only when Eleanor stepped back.

 

“No, Max!”

 

“You said that you would do anything for Max,” Max said, her chin high in challenge. Eleanor would not refuse, she knew that. Eleanor loved playing the saviour and relished the power it gave her to orchestrate people’s lives. It made gave her the illusion that she could control her own destiny.

 

Eleanor’s gaze flicked to the woman in the bed, not keen on letting a perfect stranger hear how very deep her affections for Max ran. She was young, the mother. Younger than Max. It made Eleanor uneasy.

 

“A baby, Max!? What am I to do with a baby?” She stepped closer and hissed through gritted teeth. “For God’s sake, I’m not exactly the maternal type.”

 

Max only smiled and pressed the baby into Eleanor’s arms. “You are a quick learner. I ‘ave faith.”

 

“Max,” Eleanor whined, absolutely refusing to look down at the thing squirming in her arms. Of course it had begun to wake up as soon she had taken charge of it. The damned things never liked her. “What do I do when it needs feeding?”

 

“Emily will be ‘ere waiting. Just wander across the bridge and let the little one fill ‘er belly. The quicker you find ‘er a wet nurse and an ‘ome, the less you will ‘ave to bother with ‘er. Think of ‘er being in your care as an incentive to work faster.”

 

Eleanor whined again and finally looked down at the baby in her arms. “You had better behave yourself. I cannot abide crying.”

 

“Her name is Eleanor.” The declaration exploded from Emily with a suddenness that made Eleanor’s head hurt even more than it already did.

 

Eleanor let out a whimper. This was all she needed. “Why?”

 

“It’s such a kindness, taking her in. She’s a lot to thank you for,” Emily gushed breathily.

 

“I’m not keeping her,” Eleanor warned as the baby – _Eleanor_ – gurgled contentedly. “No. Do not do that. I am absolutely _not_ keeping you, no matter what noises you make. You can live with the church for all I care and believe me, that is not something I force anyone into lightly.”

 

“I think she likes you,” Max teased, adjusting the blanket so that the baby’s face showed plainly from beneath it. “Now, off you go. Find ‘er an ‘ome.”

 

The sight of Eleanor plodding sullenly across the bridge with a baby in her arms was enough to make Max burst into a fit of laughter. Emily didn’t seem to appreciate it, but it was the first time Max had laughed like that since the last morning she had woken to Eleanor pressing tickling kisses up her sides. With a start, she realised that Anne would never make her laugh like that. No one but Eleanor ever had. An uneasiness settled in her belly and she had to leave the room before Emily saw it. Eleanor’s hold on her was still far too strong, and she did not know if she would ever be able to break it. She did not know if she wanted to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

All that day Max listened as the sound of crying began, grew closer and then ebbed away to contented silence. It was strange to imagine what Eleanor might be doing with the baby in the gaps in between. The crying was less frequent than she had expected and by nightfall the curiosity was too great to suppress. She arrived in Eleanor’s office by way of the study’s porch, hoping this to be the best opportunity of observing the spectacle unnoticed. A woman of Max’s profession learnt early to be as quiet as mouse, though most women learnt it sooner or later. Max crept up to the doorway in silence with barely any effort at all.

 

The sight within made her whole body tingle. It was a most pleasant feeling, one that drew her forward, yearning for a closer look at the perfect tableaux – they were sat quite comfortably in the desk chair, the baby peaceful in her arms and Eleanor gazing down at her with absolute adoration. It made Max feel the strangest things. Part of her wanted to walk right up to Eleanor and kiss her, but another part wanted her to run and never look back.

 

“I’m still not keeping her,” Eleanor said, not taking her eyes form the baby for a moment. She smiled at her still and brushed her thumb over the baby’s tiny hand.

 

“I thought I you ‘ad not ‘eard me,” Max said softly, climbing the often creaky steps with care not to wake the baby.

 

Eleanor nodded to the mirror opposite the door. “Do you think I would be so little prepared for uninvited visitors?”

 

Max laughed silently. “But of course. I of all people should know not to underestimate you.”

 

Eleanor’s smile twitched for the briefest second to a smirk, before settling back to serenity. Max had never seen her so calm, except in afterglow, and even then she was never still so long.

 

“You sure you do not wish to keep ‘er?” Max asked lightly, perching on the edge of Eleanor’s desk. She did not think for a moment that Eleanor would seriously say yes, but she had honestly never expected that she would see Eleanor so soft with a baby in her arms. If Eleanor did say yes, no force of will could keep Max from kissing her. “You look very at ‘ome with ‘er in your arms and she could not be more content.”

 

Eleanor did not answer her question.

 

“There’s a family coming from the far side of the island. The woman has just had a baby, but it almost killed her. The doctor told her that another _would_ kill her. She does not want her son to grow up alone, says every boy needs a sister to teach him to be sweet. At least it isn’t the church.”

 

“I ‘alf thought you would ‘ave ‘er in a basket in the corner. Keeping ‘er out of your way whilst you conducted your business,” Max admitted. “Like you said, you are not quite the maternal type.”

 

“She’s so new, Max,” Eleanor sighed, wonder and sadness all mixed up in a mood that Max had never seen on her before. “So defenceless. I could not let her live her first day on earth without anyone showing her love. That’s no way to start a life.”

 

Max understood then. Eleanor knew what it was like to lose her mother. She had been young, though Max did not know exactly how young, and it had affected her more deeply than she would ever admit. As had her father’s indifference. If anyone could understand what it was to be abandoned or unwanted by one’s parents, it was Eleanor.

 

“She is lucky to ‘ave your name and to ‘ave spent ‘er first day in your company,” Max soothed. “She will grow up strong because of it.”

 

“Her new family will probably change it.”

 

Max was not sure, but she thought that Eleanor sounded a little melancholic at the thought.

 

“Eleanor.”

 

Eleanor looked up at the sound of her name, her eyes wide and blue. Max’s heart skipped a beat. She could not do it. Not yet. One look from Eleanor still made her tremble. She could not let herself be that weak. Not again. And _oh_ , how Eleanor made her weak.

 

“The baby is dribbling,” Max improvised.

 

Eleanor’s smile flickered and fell, and there came a knock at the door.

 

“Mistress Guthrie, they’re here.”

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

 In the days that followed, Eleanor came into Max’s thoughts with a distracting frequency. Seeing her so soft with the baby – whose name, incidentally, Max had been able to persuade the new parents not to change – had been unexpected. She had never imagined Eleanor in any role but that of businesswoman, or perhaps a governor, if they were ever to be a woman occupying such a position. She was quite sure that being a mother was not something Eleanor planned for her future, but that did not change that Max was certain now that Eleanor would be good at it. Just because it would never happen did not make the revelation any less pertinent. It spoke of something that Eleanor had always been so careful to hide; her capacity and willingness to love.

 

In her darkest days, shackled on the beach, Max had questioned whether Eleanor had it in her to love at all. How could someone who could love do something so cruel to someone who loved them? Now she was not so sure that it had been cruel. It had been naive, without a doubt, but perhaps Eleanor had truly meant not only to build a better life for herself, but for Max too. Could it be that Max was so deeply entwined in Eleanor’s heart that Eleanor had not been able to envision her not being part of that future? Max had been guilty of all of that. From the moment she had first woken up with Eleanor’s arms around her, she had _known_. But she had been wrong. She was with Anne now and Eleanor… Eleanor was back to being the lone wolf she always had been inside.

 

Still, she could not help but feel like all of this was an interval. She had heard of _la fatalité de l'amour_. Inevitability. Fate. But things like that did not happen to people like Max. And there were things she could not forgive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sound of a gun in Nassau was not so very rare, but it startled Max from sleep nonetheless. Her muscles tensed and held as still as stone. Around her the world seemed to echo. The sound of her heart pounded in her ears like the beating of a drum. In the dark, her eyes opened wide, black pupils drowning out the brown in their eagerness for light. Torches flared out the window and the night grew red with fire. For the space of a dozen heartbeats, she thought she was back on the beach.

But tents have no windows and the warm body stirring beside her was only Anne.

 

“Fucking pirates,” Anne grumbled, cracking the spell of suspended time and bringing the present crashing back.

 

“You are a pirate,” Max murmured distractedly, her fast-beating heart stealing the breath from her lungs. She still sometimes woke up shaking and, though Anne’s presence by her side let her surrender to sleep feeling safe, it had taken almost a week not to flinch awake when she brushed up against her in sleep.

 

A grunt came from Anne’s side of the bed, but Max did not look away from the window.

 

Anne did not indulge in small talk or reassurances. Not even now they were sharing a bed. It wasn’t love, they both knew that. It wasn’t even lust for Max, not especially. Anne was there and Anne wanted her, and Max in turn wanted to be wanted. She wanted to feel desire that wasn’t tainted by what Hamund and his men had done, nor by the sweetness of Eleanor’s last caress. Anne was neither. Anne was different and a little clumsy, but she wanted Max and she had saved her, and that was enough. With Anne, Max was safe, and a woman again – not some battered, broken, sexless thing – and she had thoughts and needs of her own.

 

“You are not going to see what or who it was.” Max sighed, exasperated after only seconds of wakefulness. They had a strange relationship, slow and safe in bed and fiery out of it. “Then what use are you?”

 

“No one screamed, did they? ‘S’nothing,” Anne muttered into her pillow, her back to Max and the commotion outside.

 

The sounds of men shouting rose and Max looked finally away from the window and down at Anne. “You ‘ope,” she huffed.

 

“I ‘ope,” Anne agreed, pulling the sheets up over her head. “Now go back to sleep. I can’t stand this chatterin’.”

 

Max rolled her eyes and slipped from the bed. She could see nothing from her window but the silvery cast of the moon on the tavern across the street and candlelight flickering in its windows. The shot had sounded close, but you can never be sure. It could even have been cannonfire in the bay;the British come to wrench them from Nassau as Eleanor had always feared.

 

“Well?” Anne asked. “See anythin’ worth gettin’ out of bed for?”

 

Before Max could answer that she had not, Nassau erupted into life. Men came flooding from the shadows like ants from a nest, all of them converging on the tavern. Shouts came so thick that words were no more clear in them than in the rushing of the waves. All other sound was eclipsed and she and did not hear Anne rise before she was at the window beside her, dressed and armed.

A pistol, cold and heavy, was pressed into Max’s hand and she closed her fingers around it. “Someone points a gun at ya, shoot ‘em first,” Anne muttered, embarrassment rouging her cheeks.

 

That she gave up one of her pistols said more than she ever could with words, and Max wondered why it was that the women she brought to her bed found it so hard to open their mouths to show what was in their hearts.

 

“What do you think ‘as ‘appened?” Max asked. Her eyes scanned the crowd for answers, for a familiar face, and her grip on the pistol tightened.

 

“It’s ‘er. ‘S’gotta be with this much fuss. ‘er or that man o’ ‘ers,” Anne said quickly, her eyes narrowed on the commotion below.

 

The whole tavern was lit up now and Max’s heart was in her throat. “Mr Scott is at sea with Captain ‘ornigold, remember?”

 

Hornigold was one of three captains that had set out against Eleanor’s wishes in search of what had befallen _The Walrus_ and _The Ranger_ , and when he had set sail, Mr Scott had gone with him.

 

“Then it’s ‘er.”

 

Anne’s voice sent ice through Max’s heart – cold and sharp like a dagger.

 

“It might not be,” Max whispered, her voice wavering and weakening. Her stomach was turned over with fear, growing thicker by the minute until she felt like she had never risen from the foulness of the beach.

 

Screams bubbled up from the brothel’s ground floor and in seconds the bedroom door was flung open, Jack barrelling in in its wake.

 

“We have a serious fucking problem,” he panted, the whites of his eyes bright with alarm. “A nice young member of the Royal British _fucking_ Navy is bleeding all over our goddamn floor.”

 

“I told you,” Max hissed, grabbing a robe to cover herself and making for the door. She could feel her walls rising back up, her strength returning. “Where ‘as ‘e been shot?”

 

Jack shook his head and pulled her out onto the landing and down the stairs. Blood was Max’s domain. They had sorted that very early in their arrangement. Max was no stranger to blood and never flinched, but Jack seemed to be the only pirate alive to pale at the sight of it.

 

“Nothing so clean as a gunshot, I’m afraid. Looks like someone with piss poor eyesight tried to gouge out his neck with a dagger, poor sod,” Jack said.

 

Max’s grip tightened on the pistol in and she surveyed the redness of the floor. The man was sprawled between the tables, his Navy coat black from red on red and his throat torn from ear to clavicle. He was writhing and screaming, trying and failing to keep the blood from pouring from his neck. Around him, her whores stood in a wide circle, smears leading out from the blood from the slipping of their feet.

 

“Where is he?” A man’s voice echoed over the chaos in the streets. “I want him found, now!” “Emily,” Max said calmly, her eyes fixed on the Navy man in their midst, “go outside and see what ‘as ‘appened. Be quick about it.”

 

The redheaded girl nodded at her Madame and skittered out the doors.

 

“I think it’s fairly fucking clear what’s ‘appened,” Anne scowled from the landing. “Question is, what the fuck are we goin’ ‘a do about it?”

 

“It’s her,” Emily said breathily from the doorway, clutching at her shawl and panting. She was wet from the rain and Max heard it pounding on the roof like a hurricane. “They’re saying he shot Mistress Guthrie trying to escape. No one knows more than that.”

 

The information settled into Max like a second skin. It closed over her, soaked in, and changed her. This man had tried to kill Eleanor - _her_ Eleanor, she had never been able to stop thinking of her as that – and he might well have succeeded. There could be nothing more repulsive. Nothing more profane. There could only be one answer to that.

 

At the sound of a second shot, Nassau went silent. Even the rain.

 

“Holy _fucking_ shit!” Jack swore in the vacuum, bravely hiding behind a table, his ears ringing from the blast.

 

Smoke fumed from the end of Max’s pistol and the bitter smell of spent gunpowder suffused the air. Anne was by her side in moments, taking the weapon from her hand and shoving it into its holster. The Navy man lay still on the floor, his head a bloody mess.

 

“Nice shot,” Anne muttered.

 

“I was aiming for ‘is ‘eart,” Max said coolly, staring down at the man she had killed with utter indifference. She had been ready to save him before she had seen the colour of his coat and learned of what he had done.

 

The silence was short. Whatever shock had fallen over the place, it broke when Eleanor’s agonised scream tore through the night. Every eye in the place turned to Max, fear and fascination on their faces. All of them waiting to see what she would do next. They were a sort of legend in the brothel, her and Eleanor, an epic in their own time. There were women who were jealous, those who were repulsed, and those who held on to them for the promise of love in this bleak place. Max knew all of these things. She knew she had a responsibility to these women, that she should reassure him. But her mind sung with a singular thing – Eleanor was alive.

 

Max’s decision – not that there was any choice to be made when it came to Eleanor – was made when O’Malley appeared through the brothel doors, his face flecked with blood. Eleanor’s blood.

 

He looked from the man on the floor to the blackened stain on Max’s hand and knew in an instant what had happened, not one bit surprised. “She’s asking for you. It’s bad, Max. I know things went sour between the two of you, but you have to come. You have to. She’s said nothing but your name over and over, I can’t stand it!”

 

Before Max could move, Anne’s hand found hers, holding her steady. “You don’t have to go. This don’t change nothin’.”

 

They both knew it did, both knew it had been inevitable. _La fatalité de l'amour_. “Take me to ‘er.”

 

Time seemed to slow as O’Malley led Max through the crowded street and up to a room that she had once thought of as home. He stopped her outside the door, took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

 

“I meant it when I said it was bad, but it looks worse‘an it is,” he breathed. “Eme says that if she makes it t’rough the night, she’s a good chance ‘o makin’ it. It ain’t gone too deep, Eme got near the lot of it out, but the shot made a bloody mess ‘o what it got at.”

 

Whatever Max had imagined, the sight of it was worse.

 

She had never seen so much blood. Nor had she smelt the iron in so strongly. The whole room stank of it. Everything was red. Eleanor lay shaking in the bed they had shared, sweating and bloodied and pale. She was drenched it in. Red with it. The bed too. The rags littering the floor. Max’s stomach lurched and she had to look away, turning back to bury her face in O’Malley’s chest. But even there, behind her closed eyes, she saw it still. There would been no unseeing it and hiding was the coward’s way out. Eleanor deserved more than that.

 

She turned around.

 

Tying off a sheet bandage around Eleanor’s bleeding belly stood one of the slave women that

Eleanor had freed. She looked up at Max, bowed her head and stepped aside.

 

Max’s feet moved of their own accord, taking her away from the door, where she could see far too much, and right to Eleanor’s side, snatching up her hand and clutching it close to her chest. It was bloody and it slipped in her grip, but she pressed it over heart and held it fast.

 

Eleanor looked more afraid than Max had ever seen her, with tears slipping down her cheeks and her eyes pleading her as if Max alone could take away all her pain. Max’s heart clenched. She was helpless – useless – to stop this thing happening to Eleanor. There was nothing she could do, but reach down and firmly grip Eleanor’s jaw, still clenching Eleanor’s hand to her heart, and kiss her, desperate and hard, soothing both of their pain the only way she could.

 

“Max is ‘ere and she is _never_ leaving,” she promised, her voice shaky and strange. Her forehead touched Eleanor’s and it took all her will not baulk at how cool it felt. “So don’t you leave ‘er, you ‘ear me? Don’t you dare!”

 

Eleanor’s eyes were unfocused on the ceiling, blinking furiously as her breathing her turned more laboured. Something even quieter than a whisper slipped from her lips, something that sounded vaguely like, “I love you.”

 

“I love you,” Max swore back. “Please Elenaor, please! You ‘ave to believe me. You ‘ave to stay. Max cannot lose you. She cannot lose you!

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That night was the longest of Max’s life. Three times Eleanor’s breaths fell so shallow that they almost stopped and Max felt her slipping away. It was by Max’s will alone, her constant, relentless unwillingness to give in, that Eleanor was dragged through to morning. She lay by Eleanor’s side all night, shaking her and shouting at her when she threatened to give in and whispering to her all of the things she had never said when she tried to fight. Even when Eleanor fell into a fitful sleep, Max did not cease her promises. Promising never to leave her again. Promising her the world if she would only stay alive.

 

Though she had never been one for prayer, when morning light finally came, Max closed her eyes and thanked God that Eleanor had made it that far.

 

“Max,” Eleanor croaked, her voice rough and foreign sounding as it slipped from her too-pale lips. There was still no pink in her cheeks, but her eyes – those eyes that made Max understand how men got lost in the beauty of the sea – were a little brighter, a little more alive.  When they opened and caught the morning light, Max could have cried at the sight of them. How could she have ever contemplated spending eternity not waking up to those beautiful, beautiful eyes?

 

“Hush,” Max soothed, wiping back the sweat damp hair from Eleanor’s forehead and cheeks. Eme said that the sweating was good, that it meant that her body was fighting. Max kissed Eleanor’s forehead and savoured the salty taste of her skin – the taste of victory over the cruel night. “Sleep. Max will not leave you.”

 

Eleanor’s eyes fluttered closed and she breathed slow and steady through the pain. “How bad is it?”

 

The truth was that Max did not know. None of them did. Though they had sent for a doctor, none had been willing to come to the pirate-ridden town. They had had to do the best they could with what little knowledge they had. No one knew for sure what damage the shot to the lower left side of Eleanor’s belly had done. Eme knew vaguely what lay there beneath the skin, but she could not say for sure, nor could she say what damage it would cause. All they could do was stop the bleeding and hope. Hope, and lie.

 

“It is not so bad.”

 

Eleanor smiled, her eyes still closed. “I knew it was bad when I saw that you had come. Then when you kissed me, I knew death was close. I could feel it coming for me and part of me thought it was worth it. For that kiss, it was worth it.”

 

Her words made Max’s heart skip a beat. She would never forget the sight of Eleanor lying there, drenched in blood and shaking. Where Eleanor’s skin had been rich and golden, it was now turned the eerie white of milk. The high colour of her cheeks, bronzed from the West Indies sun and pink from Eleanor’s passions, was gone too. She was a shadow of the bold Eleanor that Max had fallen in love with and she would not give up until she got that Eleanor back.

 

“That time ‘as gone,” she lied, knowing Eleanor’s fate was yet far from certain. “You are not going to die. Max will not let you. She will not ‘ave you leave ‘er.”

 

Eleanor opened her eyes and smiled sadly, summoning just enough energy to shake her head. “Max has no power over life and death.”

 

“Max has power over Eleanor.”

 

Eleanor broke her gaze. “That she does.”

 

“This is enough,” Max promised. She loved Eleanor and she could not deny herself it any longer, no matter what had come between them. Seeing Eleanor like this melted all of the ice in her heart and she needed Eleanor to see that, needed to give her hope. If Eleanor loved her even an eighth as much as Max loved her, that hope would be everything. If it were Max lying there broken, it would be all she would need to fight on. “Max will not let you leave ‘er. We ‘ave things to do together, you and I. A life to live. _Together_.”

 

“You said…”

“I ‘ave said many things,” Max soothed, holding Eleanor as close as she dared. She did not want to cause her pain and Eleanor could not move from her back, so all Max could do was curl up at her side and rest her forehead once more against Eleanor’s. This time it was warm. “None of those things are as important as _‘I love you’_. And I do Eleanor. Max loves you with all of ‘er ‘eart. It is not something she ever thought she would ‘ave, and it is worth all of the pain and ‘eartache if it means that I get to love you.”

 

When Eleanor baulked, Max hushed her and continued. “No, it is true. I ‘ave never known anyone who loved a whore. Not for who they were as person. Not like you did. And you _did_ , even if you could never say it. You told it to me with every look, every touch. I felt you trail it over my skin when we made love. Felt it in the warmth of your breath on my neck when you curled around me in the night. Felt it in the way you came apart for me and ‘ow you showed me all of the fears that you tried so very ‘ard to ‘ide from everyone else. This I knew, even if you did not.”

 

“Max-”

 

“Even if you never say it, it does not matter,” Max interrupted, all in a rush. “Max knows and that is enough.”

 

“I love you,” Eleanor swore, her voice a little stronger. “I do, Max. I promise I do. I’m sorry I did not say it. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Tears swelled it Eleanor’s eyes, but Max’s smile at her admission dulled Eleanor’s pain more than all of the rum in the world.

 

“I never doubted it for a moment, mon amour,” Max consoled. “I love you and you love me. That is all that matters now.”

 

When Max leant towards her and brushed her lips against hers so very softly, Eleanor could feel the life being breathed back into her aching body. She was dizzy with the headiness of love and she knew that she could survive this. With Max by her side, there was nothing that she could not do and no battle that she could not win to keep her there.

  

 

* * *

 

 

  

 

A week passed before Eleanor could manage to sit up in bed and it almost two more before the pain had lessened enough for her to stand. As promised, Max did not leave her side and slowly they began to repair the damage to their relationship.

 

Eleanor was timid at first, afraid Max would recount it all once it was clear that she would not die. But the scare had had frightened Max into giving up on her pride and allowing herself to love Eleanor again, and on that she could not go back. Not now she had kissed her again. Not now those butterflies had awoken in her belly and she had felt that most perfect of things; passion and love entwined, both stronger together than they could ever be apart.

 

She indulged those butterflies, keeping Eleanor’s mind from the pain with deep, slow kisses that burned with a sweet heat for hours on end. She kissed her until Eleanor was panting and flushed again. Kissed her until Eleanor whimpered from the pain and tears ran down both of their cheeks.

 

They were alone in that room, secluded with the one thing they had never had before; time, endless time. They spoke of everything that they had once kept to themselves. Talked about everything and nothing. They read through Eleanor’s small library, and Max learnt that English could be just as poetic as French, given the right wordsmith. She read whilst Eleanor laid her head in her lap, her arm curled around Max’s thigh like it were a pillow.

 

Max nursed Eleanor as best she could, marvelling at how much Eleanor let her do. Before, Eleanor had always insisted that she did not need anyone but herself. Now she clung to Max as if she was her saviour. Sweet words spilled from her lips and Max revelled in hearing everything that she had ever wanted Eleanor to say.

 

Then, when Eleanor was finally strong enough to stand, Max pressed her back into the pillows and made her come apart, slow and steady. And though Eleanor was still too weak to exert herself for long, the merest touch had been enough to make Max see stars. Eleanor had cried afterwards and Max had held her and rocked her like a child, her own tears falling in a kind of relief. Nothing had ever moved her as much as Eleanor’s touch, and she had been afraid that it would leave her as cold as Anne had. Not so. Eleanor’s touch enflamed her as it always had, lighting fire in her loins and heart both.

 

It wasn’t sex. Sex was clinical. Sex was her business. It wasn’t fucking either. That was desperate in another way, full of the fire of desire but nothing else. It was – as cliché as it sounded – making love. It always would be. No matter what the tempo; soft, sweet, rough or hard. She could not wait to explore them all again. Could not wait until her Eleanor could be as fierce as a lion again. A fierce lion whom Max could make purr.

 

“Come,” Max beckoned when three weeks had passed, holding out her hand to help Eleanor from the bed. “It is time you were seen.”

 

Vane had been surprisingly helpful. After finding out that Max had killed the bastard who had shot Eleanor, he had felt a little emasculated and had made a bold stand in Eleanor’s defence. He had stood on a crate outside the tavern and threatened to blast to smithereens the ship, house or business premises of any man who tried to take of advantage of Eleanor in her time of ill health. Despite this grand gesture, Eleanor would not see him, and that gratified the part of Max that was jealous still.Having come so close to losing her, she did not want to share Eleanor with anyone. Not even her friends and advisors. Certainly not Charles Vane. Not in any capacity. If she had her way, they would never leave that room again. But they had responsibilities. Nassau could not run without Eleanor at its helm and Max had business interests of her own to cultivate and expand.

 

Eleanor winced. “Must I?”

 

“ _Oui_.” Max smiled indulgently and leant down to kiss Eleanor’s pouted lips. “You ‘ave an island to run and people are starting to wonder if that Navy man did not finish you off after all. Cannot ‘ave them thinking that, can we?”

 

Eleanor’s shock at finding out that Max had killed the man was almost as strong as her relief that he was dead. Max had contemplated keeping it from her, but all of Nassau knew, even though the official story was that he had died of his previous wounds, ones that Eleanor herself had inflicted in defending herself. Max had expected to feel guilt at his death, but she had found that she could be just as coldly vengeful as Eleanor and knew that if ever anyone tried to hurt Eleanor again, she would do the same without hesitation.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said suddenly, once Max had her on her feet. “Your business, I should not have kept you from it.”

 

Smirking, Max said, “Max can think of ways that you can make it up to ‘er, professionally speaking.”

 

Eleanor snorted and leant down to kiss her. “You’re going to wrap me around your little finger when it comes to business, aren’t you? You’ll be eating into my profits before I know it.”

 

Smiling innocently, Max said, “Only when it comes to business?”

 

Eleanor gave her _the look_ and Max laughed and kissed her. Eleanor was powerless to resist her and they both knew it. It amused Max to no end that Eleanor could be so fierce with the rest of the world and such a pussycat with her. It made her heart swell and her hands ache to be touching Eleanor. As they walked out of Eleanor’s room, she could not help but take Eleanor’s hand.

 

The breeze up on the bridge was cool. Eleanor breathed in deep and closed her eyes, savouring the feeling of freedom. She had missed the scent of the sea off the bay and the feel of the wind on her cheeks. It made her head spin and she had to hold onto the railing to keep herself from swooning.

 

“Careful,” Max whispered. “Show them ‘ow strong you are.”

 

People were beginning to look up and Eleanor could not help but feel the weight of their gazes press uncomfortably into her. Sequestered in her room, she had been free of them. She had no part to act. No one to please or impress. No one but Max, who was most pleased when Eleanor acted no part at all.

 

As if sensing her uncertainty, Max slipped beneath Eleanor’s arm and stood between her and the railing, turning back to Nassau and fixing Eleanor with an encouraging smile. Eleanor’s arm wrapped instinctively around her and Max’s body tingled in response.

 

“You are strong, you know this,” Max consoled.

 

“Not as strong as you. I do not know how you manage it. Going through all that you did. Forgiving me. How could you forgive me?” Eleanor’s voice cracked and Max had to shush her to stop her from showing weakness in front of these people.

 

“It is simple. Max loves you. Not being with you ‘urts ‘er just as much as it ‘urts you. She is only sorry that it took this,” she placed her hand over the place were Eleanor’s stomach was pitted and pink from the spray of the gunshot, “to make ‘er see it.”

 

Eme had tended Eleanor’s wound daily and had shooed Max from the room whilst she had done so. It had given Max an hour or so each day to make sure that Jack was not running the brothel into the ground, but it also meant that Max never saw the wound. Even when the bandage was removed, she had not seen the still-pink scars. Eleanor did not want her to. She did not want her to see the blemish of it on her skin. Twelve imperfections that she would never be rid of, staining the skin above her left hip. But Max had kissed her into submission and then kissed the scars too. She had reminded Eleanor that she had scars of her own, then shown her those that Eleanor had never seen before, had brought Eleanor’s lips to them and reminded her that scars could only ever make them stronger.

 

“Not as sorry as I am that I did not tell you sooner,” Eleanor said, her voice thin and sad.

 

Below them, a crowd was gathering, all anxious to see Mistress Guthrie up and well. Vane was among the crowd and when Eleanor saw him, she quickly looked away. Her and Max’s relationship had not been a secret – at least, not after Noonan had found out – but they had never been in such an intimate position in public. Eleanor fought the urge to run and hide, but Max saw the conflict plain on her face and warned her not to move with a hard look.

 

“Kiss me,” she challenged, all softness gone from her voice. The stakes were high. She knew that what Eleanor said in private would mean nothing if the people of Nassau – Eleanor’s people – still thought of her as Eleanor’s whore. “’ere and now, in front of them all. Show them that you are Eleanor Guthrie and that you do as you please. Show them that I am not just some whore. Show them that there is something you love more than this place.”

 

Eleanor did not hesitate. Nor did she rush it, kissing Max fast and hard like a man kisses a whore. She did it softly.

 

Letting go of the railing completely, she stood under her own strength, the arm around Max’s waist her only anchor. Her unsteadiness brought them closer, their bodies pressing close enough that Eleanor had to bite her lip to stop herself from gasping at the flare of pain from her belly. It was a sweet pain, though, one she would gladly endure for that closeness. It made her heart quicken – or was that Max’s heart? – and her blood seemed to sing with anticipation as it rushed through her veins.

 

She had never kissed Max where anyone could see and she suddenly could not wait a moment longer to do it. Max was not her whore, she was her queen, and she wanted everyone to know it. She took Max’s cheek in her hand and let not even breath come between them. Her ears rang with the beating of her heart, hearing it falter and speed when Max smiled against her lips.

 

Though she had meant it to be a simple press of lips, unwilling to give the men below too much of a show, Max had other ideas. Her smile widened and opened until Eleanor’s lips had to do the same, drawing the kiss deeper and urging Eleanor on, as she always did. And Eleanor had always been one to rise to a challenge. Max’s smile kindled one of her own and she licked playfully at Max’s lower lip, then her tongue, making her laugh and swallowing the dear sound to keep it inside her.

 

Where there had first been a general rise in the sound of conversations below, there was now a great hush. Whether actual or a symptom of Eleanor being utterly enthralled in Max, she had not a care. All she knew was Max. The feel of her dress beneath her fingertips, of her warm cheek and her perfect lips. The sound of her ragged breaths, her whimpers and their kiss. The scent of her, sweet with precious oils that she had had pirated from the east, and the dark, earthiness of her skin. Everything was Max, and Eleanor was quite content to lose herself in her.

 

“That will do,” Max said when Eleanor’s breath grew too laboured. She patted Eleanor’s cheek and smiled to show her that she was pleased. “Do not tire yourself out so soon. I may ‘ave need of you later, when we are alone, and I think that it is time that you aired out your study, hmm?”

 

Eleanor blushed and nodded. The world was starting to move again. Only this time, she was not alone and she would not let Max be either. Never again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Tumblr's Fromtoday for proofing.


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